


Dead Man Walking

by IcyPanther



Series: Shooting For the Stars (But Crashing Back Down) [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Gen, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Investigations, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Police, Protective Coran (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Rape Recovery, criminal justice system, detective coran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Detective Coran is on the case and seeking justice against a monster disguised as a man for not just Lance but the countless other victims he has left broken in his wake. Coran though is not the only one with his nose to the ground. Pidge and Keith are growing more and more suspicious thatsomethingis going on with Lance, Shiro is concerned and protective and that run-in at the coffee shop isn’t helping any, and Hunk is just trying to look out for Lance and the rest of his friends as best he can without betraying Lance’s trust. And Lance? Lance just wants everything to go back to normal. Even though… even though he knows it never will.





	Dead Man Walking

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Alternate universe fic of my Shooting For the Stars (But Crashing Back Down) series that starts with _Passing Grade_. **READ THOSE FIRST** or this will make zero sense. Follows pretty immediately after _Safe In Your Arms (But Not yet)_.  
>  **Warning notes:** None, although discussions and references to rape and sexual assault as well as some descriptions of injury associated with such.  
>  **Additional notes:** I have nothing against tea, honestly, and like it more than coffee (which I don’t like at all xD). Also, all names chosen for victims are not meant to be any canon characters, just like Wilde is not. Apologies also to anyone named Andrew, you’re lovely people and nothing like Wilde but he needed a first name.

**Tuesday, December 18, 14:42**

  
_Shiro: Hey buddy. Just wanted to see how you were doing. (14:42)_  
_Lance: I’m okay (16:45)_  
_Lance: I told my parents (16:45)_  
_Lance: (...) (16:45)_  
_Shiro: I’m really proud of you, Lance. I know that was hard. (16:47)_  
_Shiro: If you need to talk you can call me anytime, okay? (17:45)_  
_Lance: Thanks Shiro. (18:05)_  
_Shiro: Anytime, buddy. I’m always here for you. (18:06)_

 

Shiro put his phone down with a tired sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose. He’d been trying to hold off on contacting Lance to give him some space but he’d heard nothing since the boy went home for the holidays and he couldn’t shake the fear that something had gone wrong.

Well, more wrong. Things were already pretty messed up as they were.

But he was glad Lance had told his parents. He knew how important family was to Lance and having their support through this would mean a lot.

He still felt sick when he thought about it. He had _liked_ Wilde as a person, viewed him to be one of the more personable staff members and knew that he was pretty popular with the students. To think he was capable of doing that… Shiro almost couldn’t believe it. It didn’t _fit_ at all with the profile Wilde had painted of himself as a down-to-earth, approachable professor who genuinely cared about his students.

But despite that he believed Lance. And to see that vibrant, enthusiastic young man looking so _small_ and _scared_ and—

“Shiro?”

Shiro nearly startled off the chair in his tiny dining room and only quick reflexes saved him from knocking the phone off the table although an empty mug and a stack of papers were sacrificed in the flail instead. Shiro bit back the curse. He’d just finished sorting those.

Keith raised an eyebrow, damp towel around his shoulders from where he’d just come out of the shower of Shiro’s studio apartment where the two were spending the break. Shiro’s grandparents had traveled back to Japan for the holidays and going home without them there seemed odd. At least, that was what Shiro had told Keith, but in reality he wanted to be close to GGU in case something happened and his grandparents’ home in Iowa was nowhere close to accessible. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro hurriedly shrunk down Lance’s text screen lest Keith catch sight of it. He knew from Hunk that Lance had been avoiding Keith (and Pidge) for over a week and he couldn’t — wouldn’t — betray the fact he had been in contact of any sort with Lance, not even to Keith. It wasn’t his place, even if his stomach had churned uncomfortably with guilt when he’d point-blank lied when Keith had asked him last week if he’d heard from Lance at all.

Keith had seemed to believe him then but he did not look convinced now.

“Just a lot of grading,” Shiro offered up a strained smile. “Gotta get it all done before Friday.”

“Ah,” Keith let out a sympathetic sound. “The life of a TA. How about I cook tonight?”

“You always cook,” Shiro pointed out, bending over to start shuffling his papers back together.

“It’s why your apartment is still standing,” Keith teased. “And you’re not surviving solely on frozen dinners.”

“I like them.”

“You have no choice but to like them,” Keith was already moving into the kitchenette.

“Touché you brat,” but Shiro only sounded fond. His little brother had come a long, long way from the withdrawn, distrustful, angry, _sad_ kid with no one he’d met all those years ago.

He’d have been a perfect target for someone like Wilde.

Shiro’s mirth faded as he watched Keith putter around the kitchen.

He didn’t know if Wilde had a type per se, being kept out of the investigation and he was both grateful and frustrated for it, but if part of the criteria for selection was tied to financial situation than Keith, here fully on scholarship and if he hadn’t met Shiro several years before would have been on his own…

Shiro felt sick.

Keith seemed to sense his stare as he looked up from where he was pulling out a mixing bowl. “What?”

“You’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?” Shiro hoped the question hadn’t come out too quickly too desperately, but all he could imagine now was Keith sitting in the metal chair of the police department with dead eyes and shamed cheeks.

“...yes?” Keith put out, frown forming on his face. “Is everything really okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Nothing was fine.

Sharp purple eyes narrowed. “Shiro—”

“What’re we having for dinner?” Shiro interrupted.

Keith wasn’t always the best at picking up social cues but he _was_ very observant and if Shiro wasn’t careful he would catch on that something wasn’t quite right and given his query already regarding Lance it wouldn’t take much to put some of the pieces together.

And while Keith at this point had to know something was going on he didn’t press and as he relayed their dinner menu — chicken cordon bleu, garlic potatoes and salad (all of which sounded heavenly to Shiro) — Shiro found himself slowly relaxing.

Things at least for the moment were okay here.

He hoped they were okay with Lance too.

xxx

**Wednesday, December 19, 10:04**

The shuffle of papers and tired sigh pulled Sam Holt from his own reading and he glanced across his desk towards where Dr. Ryner Olkari was sitting at his work table. Ryner was a trusted friend and brilliant astrophysics professor at University of Altea and he had brought her in as an independent and impartial judge to go over Lance Esposito’s test scores and papers with approval from Garrison City Police, she being told it was for a content review to assess a tenured professor.  

Sam had painstakingly made copies of all the papers, typed word for word (and grammar mistakes, he winced) to eliminate the marks Wilde had left behind, and recopied all of the tests with a generous amount of white out over the notes so that he and Ryner could both look objectively at the content.

He was starting to feel ill from what he had discovered.

“What am I looking for here, Sam?” she asked, pressing a hand to her head and obscuring her bindi. “You do not fool me. These papers are all by the same student. Ah ah,” she held up a hand, bangles clinking lightly, “do not deny it. I see the markers in their writing.”

“You are too smart sometimes, Ry,” Sam sighed. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“Besides an over excessive use of the word ‘that’?” her  lips quirked up. “I see a student with a very good grasp on the content matter, if not always sure how to phrase their thoughts. Perhaps English is a second language? Some confusion in relation to a few of the formulas but enough understanding of concepts to still come within range of the correct answer with proper support.”

She spoke Sam’s thoughts exactly.

“And… and what overall grade would you give this student?”

Ryner frowned and looked down at the papers and tests in front of her. “As a composite score? B, in range of eighty-four percent, tipping upwards depending on how homework and attendance factor.”

Sam’s stomach curdled.

An eighty-four. When Wilde had assigned the same work a mere forty-eight percent failing score and made it so the final would result in an overall failing grade, a D- at most, that generally pended academic probation. However, because of the core requirement of astrophysics for Lance’s major and the GGU’s commitment to excellence and only moving forward with the best of the best, as a freshman and one reliant on mostly scholarship, the academic probation condemnation would have been the end of his time at the university as they cut ties and focused their attentions on resources on a more successful candidate. Cutthroat, yes, but Galaxy Garrison University had a reputation and the freshman failure rate was typically at about thirty-five percent after the first semester.

And given Wilde’s success and tenure… none would have even blinked an eye at the surprising failure of what had looked to be a promising student.

Wilde had laid his trap perfectly.

Sam could not believe this was the same man he had thought he’d known all these many years.

“Thank you, Ryner,” Sam got out. “I… I appreciate your insight.”

“Sam, what is this—?”

“I can’t say,” he cut in, gently. “I’m sorry, Ry. But… but thank you. Truly, old friend. Can you write down your results for me? I need them to… I need them,” he finished.

Ryner inclined her head. “Of course, old friend. Anything for you.”

xxx

**Wednesday, December 19, 14:32**

Detective Coran scrolled once more through the list he had compiled of the scores the university had sent over late last week, jewel-tone eyes heavy.

He had known, based on the comments young Lance had made, that he would be looking at a number of other potential victims, but had imagined it being kept to a handful or so.

Not twenty-seven.

Coran had seen many cases in his nearly thirty years with the Garrison City Police, twenty of which had been in the Investigations division, and there were many that stayed with him despite his best efforts to not bring work home or dwell on the depravity of humanity.

This would be one of them.

It’s not that he had not seen criminal sexual assault cases before, a far too common occurrence that unsettled him every time. But this one… this boy…and that _man._

Wilde had come into his office on Monday, avoiding the summons until then and Coran couldn't do anything about it as there was nothing to be charged yet and so he could not arrest him. The man had been far too smug and confident that had immediately rubbed Coran the wrong way. He had been genial, friendly, but Coran, even knowing he had to remain impartial at this point in the investigation, had not been able to shake the juxtaposition of the man sitting in front of him at the still dented table, talking amicably and enthusiastically about his subject matter and time with GGU, with the hunched, quiet and _hurt_ boy that was their topic in question.

Wilde had freely admitted to having intercourse with Lance, rendering Coran’s hope and the physical evidence of the boxer shorts sent to the lab worthless, but had said multiple times it had been consensual. Despite Wilde’s age he appeared much younger, mid-thirties at most, and he insisted that the age gap between he and an eighteen year old was of no concern to either of them.

Legally Lance was able to consent, Wilde had said, and it was not illegal to have relations with a student even if it was frowned upon. He’d sounded so convincing, so sure of himself, that it made Coran’s stomach roil to know this same charisma had been used on a bunch of scared, cornered young men to manipulate them. Serving Wilde the Order of Protection granted by the judge last week and so far all attempts to deliver it having failed had made Coran's stomach settle for the barest moment but it had come back full force when Wilde hadn't even seemed perturbed, merely telling Coran, " _D_ _o what you must do for your investigation, I will of course abide by our just law."_

That feeling was only getting worse with every name he uncovered.

The university had sent over every single grade and record that Andrew Wilde had logged since he had been teaching at GGU for twenty-one years.

Coran had settled in for a number of very long nights, only calling it quits when the bright screen and small text had blurred in front of his eyes.

The first three years nothing had jumped out at him as being abnormal; grades were consistent across the board for students with a few dips and rises here and there but nothing jarring.

In Wilde’s fourth year though there had been one student, a Carlos Garcia, that had been failing nearly from the start and then, strangely, he had received a perfect score on a test and then a perfect score on the final, sending him to a C-average and more than enough to pass. A little math on Coran’s part put Wilde then at twenty-seven years old and the student at eighteen.

Coran had pulled up Carlos’ student profile and felt his stomach clench; the teenager staring back at him in his Garrison ID card had a bright smile, tanned skin and slender physique that was remarkably similar to that of Lance.

But a single instance held little weight in court and so Coran had pressed on.

For the next several  years there was a single instance in each of Wilde’s classes of a  young, slender in physique male student, mostly of Hispanic background but a couple African Americans and all of them, with a little more digging and requests to the Garrison for further records, had been there mostly on scholarship. There was a mixture of backgrounds; single-parent homes, previous foster kids, or low-income to poverty, but all had tested well and qualified for scholarships to offset some of the costs although they seemed to be scoring low in Wilde’s class. However, records across the board showed that they were often struggling in other classes.

Still not enough.

By Wilde’s tenth year it was generally two a year, one each semester, where the grades fluctuated from a failing score to a sudden passing grade. But there was a new trend, Coran was noticing. The students in many cases had started off the year strong but by the midterm they were starting to fail more and more often.

That, Coran had winced, could not be a coincidence.

Especially as all of them were male students with a slender build and generally a darker or tanned skin tone, with only one exception so far of a white male but with dark hair and piercing green eyes.

There were twenty-seven names in total with Lance being the last one on the list.

Twenty-seven potential victims who had been sexually assaulted, manipulated and coerced by a professor that they should have been able to trust. The state of Arizona fortunately, Coran was grateful, did not have any statute of limitations for violent sexual abuse, which he classified this investigation to be leaning given the other signs of manipulation and coercion not to mention the degree to which Lance had been assaulted, and all of the victims’ incidents could be used to build the case and charges against Wilde if they stood up.

Coran had spent the last three days tracking down contact information for all of them; some easier than others as the first victims were in their late thirties now and the majority no longer anywhere in the area or even the state. One potential victim, a twenty-eight-year-old, was deceased via a car accident two years prior, and another was out of the country and unreachable. Two had committed suicide in the past six years, and dates showed that it was within two years for each of them of the potential violation. He’d swallowed thickly and pushed himself to look at the remaining twenty-two names.

Twenty-two men who had moved on with their lives and Coran was going to reach out and stir up a potential hornet’s nest of pain and embarrassment and hurt.

But if it could prevent another from ever having to go through this, could bring justice to victims and offender alike…

He would make the call every time.

Coran took a deep breath and picked up his desk phone.

xxx

**Wednesday, December 19, 20:19**

Pidge cast lazy eyes over to her phone as it lit up again, debating whether or not to reach for it. It was Holt family movie night and they were watching Rudolph in honor of the upcoming holidays and they were about to get to her favorite scene of the misfit song.

She ignored it.

It buzzed again a second later.

Pidge looked over to where here parents were cuddled on the loveseat, her dad nearly asleep. She frowned at that. He had been pulling some strangely long hours at the university lately considering the fact classes were over. Some issues with grades, he’d told her when she’d inquired the other day, and he wanted to get them straightened if possible before grade deadline on Friday.

She then turned her gaze to the empty spot on the couch next to her where Matt should be, but her older brother had been delayed by a snowstorm on the east coast and wouldn’t be arriving now until the twenty-first. Still plenty of time to do sibling things before the holiday melee but she missed him terribly and the sort of older brother figure she’d found in Lance had been…

Well, something was wrong.

Hunk claimed Lance had been sick and was mum on any further inquiries. Pidge knew it had to be more than that as Hunk was still sequestered in his and Lance’s room and generally one wanted to avoid the sick person, especially during finals week.

She really hoped nothing had happened to one of his family members.

She’d stalked his social media accounts but Lance had gone silent on them and the same on his phone. She debated hacking his phone records for herself to see what was up and who he was calling, but had knocked the thought down almost immediately.

Lance was a friend, one of her first real ones, and she would respect his privacy. _She_ wasn’t named Hunk Garrett after all. Keith was just as out of the loop as her and she at least took comfort that Lance wasn’t only hiding away from her.

She just really hoped everything was okay.

Her phone buzzed again and Pidge finally reached for it. Maybe it was Matt—

“Lance!” she gasped aloud as his name lit up her screen.

“Mlergh?” her dad mumbled, jerking awake. “Wha’ was that, Katie?”

“Lance,” she repeated.

“Oh,” her dad said and there was something in that single word that she couldn’t quite place. “He’s… a friend of yours from school?”

“Yeah,” she opened up the message thread. “I haven’t heard from him in over a week. I thought something might have happened with his family…”

She trailed off, scanning the message that had been sent to both her and Keith.

 

 _Lance: Hey guys (20:15)_  
_Lance: Sorry i haven’t been around much (20:15)_  
_Lance: I’m (20:16)_  
_Lance: I’m okay (20:19)_  
_Lance: But I need to talk to you (20:19)_  
_Lance: Not now though. When we get back from break. (20:19)_  
_Keith: What happened? (20:19)  
Lance: (...) (20:19)_

 

Pidge rolled her eyes. Keith, blunt as usual. She couldn’t blame him though in this instance.

 

_Pidge: I’m glad you’re okay. We’ve been worried. (20:21)_

 

Lance’s (...) continued to hover on the screen. Pidge was vaguely aware of her mom pausing the movie.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Mom asked.

“Dunno,” Pidge bit her lip.

While she was glad Lance was talking to them again… the messages were unlike his normal ones speckled with hearts and emojis and rambling paragraphs of text.

 

_Lance: Sorry (20:22)_

 

Pidge fired back immediately.

 

 _Pidge: You don’t have to apologize. (20:22)_  
_Keith: Why are you apologizing? (20:22)_  
_Lance: (...) (20:22)_  
_Lance: Sorry. (20:23)  
Lance: I’ll explain later. But everything is okay. (20:23)_

 

Pidge highly, highly doubted that. But she would take this for now over the week of silence. She minimized her text thread and shot a separate one to Keith.

_Pidge: Don’t push him (20:23)_  
_Keith: Something clearly is wrong (20:23)_  
_Keith: Something’s up with Shiro too (20:23)_  
_Keith: (...) (20:23)  
Keith: I’m worried (20:23)_

 

Keith willingly offering up his feelings? Pidge’s stomach clenched.

 

 _Pidge: Me too. But texting isn’t the place for this. (20:24)  
_ _Pidge: We can talk later? About Shiro? (20:24)_

 

She flipped back to the group message.

 

 _Pidge: Okay. Take it easy and have a good christmas. We’ll talk in January? (20:24)_  
_Lance: Thanks pidge ♥ (20:25)  
Lance: And yeah (20:25)_

Keith chimed in on the other message.

 

 _Keith: Maybe. I’ll keep you posted. I’m hoping it’s just TA stress but he’s been a little off. (20:25)_  
_Keith: Thanks though. (20:25)  
Pidge: Np (20:25)_

Keith went back to the group chat.

 

 _Keith: Sounds good. Feel better (20:26)_  
_Keith: and Shiro says hi (20:26)_  
_Lance: (...) (20:26)_  
_Lance: Thanks keith. And tell shiro hi too.(20:28)_  
_Keith: Will do. Night. (20:28)  
Lance: Good night :) (20:28)_

 

Pidge looked up from her phone to see her parents both looking at her. She tried for a grin to settle her suddenly upset stomach. “You guys that interested in teenage drama?”

“Well that’s the best kind,” her dad said after a moment. “But everything’s okay with your friend?”

“I’m not sure,” Pidge admitted. “But I guess so?” She turned big eyes to her dad then. He was a senior administrator.  Since Lance hadn’t come out of his room then he’d clearly missed finals and that would have needed administrator approval and her dad might have been the one assigned to his case and then he’d know what was going on. “Could you—?”

“Young lady, you know I don’t—”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. Of course.

“But I am certain,” he continued, voice low and soft, “that if your friend is in some need then he’s lucky to have you by his side.”

“Dadddd,” Pidge felt her face color and she tossed one of the throw pillows in his direction. “Stop that.”

“I’m just saying,” he held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Who wouldn’t want my beautiful, smart, amazingly talented, spitfire—”

“Stop,” Pidge moaned even as she laughed as the pillow came back her direction.

Dad smiled at her, warm and gentle and… sad.

Pidge blinked but it was gone and her mom was restarting the movie and Hermey and Rudolph’s voices sounded in the family room  “—We're a couple of misfits, what's the matter with misfits? That's where we fit in!”

Pidge hugged the pillow and hoped after they talked everything would fit back together the way it had been before.

She missed her friends.

xxx

**Thursday, December 20, 11:30**

“Please, sit,” Coran gestured to the empty seat at the table. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Muñoz.”

“Jonathan, please,” the man requested, already sliding into the seat.

“Jonathan,” Coran smiled behind his moustache that hid his own nerves. “Please, call me Coran.”

Jonathan Muñoz, age twenty-seven, and one of only two who had agreed to come speak with Coran.

Of the twenty-four numbers he’d contacted, three had been inactive, six had hung up on him once he mentioned he was with the Garrison City Police and wished to speak with them about an incident that may have occurred on campus while they were a student at GGU, eight had told him more politely they had no recollection of any incident that would require police action, and the other five had acknowledged that they may know what he was referring to but they had no desire to speak to him.

Coran had understood and thanked them for their time while inwardly he wanted to do nothing more than scream in frustration. He _needed_ the evidence, the testimony, to prove that Wilde had been doing this and getting away with it for years, but he could not force them to speak even if he promised their names would be kept confidential to all but the police and the court.

It was why he needed the two who had responded to work out.

But looking at the young man in front of him; a successful software programmer for a large tech company in Silicon Valley, married three years ago with a two-year-old son and for all intents and purposes a very happy, well-rounded individual, Coran did not know if he would be willing to involve himself (and ultimately his family) in this horror story after so much time.

He had to try though.

“I could not provide many details over the phone,” Coran said, settling himself opposite, “but I wished to bring you here to discuss an incident that would have occurred when you were a freshman at GGU. I preface this now that this room is audio and video recorded. You may leave at any time and you are not being arrested or charged with any crime. Is all of that clear?”

“Yes.”

The man’s throat bobbed beneath his tailored shirt and Coran had flutter of hope.

He knew something.

“The incident in question would have occurred with an astrophysics professor at GGU, Andrew Wilde. You had him for your introductory class second semester, correct?”

“That was a long time ago, but the name sounds familiar.”

His hands were white knuckled on the table.

Coran could already see him pulling away.

“How would you describe Wilde as a professor?”

“I don’t really recall.”

“Do you recall ever failing your astrophysics class at some point?”

“I do not.”

Coran tried hard not to grind his teeth.

“Was there any instance in which you observed Wilde to—”

“I am sorry, Coran,” Jonathan rose abruptly from the table. “I have a meeting I must get to. I apologize. Some other time?”

“Jonathan,” Coran pitched his voice low. “There is a young man, a _boy_ , who—”

“I must go. I am sorry.”

He left the interview room, not quite running but almost.

Coran added a second dent to the table.

xxx

**Thursday, December 20, 15:35**

“What are we doing here again?” Shiro asked. “Keith, I don’t have time to—”

“Shiro,” Keith put his hands on his hips. “You are giving _me_ a headache looking at you.”

“But the grades—”

“Can take a break for an hour. Besides, I needed something stronger than that crap you call coffee for said headache. And I hear they have a pretty good tea here too, Mr. I’m-too-snobbish-for-coffee.”

“I’m not snobbish,” Shiro muttered. “I just have more refined tastes.”

Keith rolled his eyes as they entered the busy coffee shop. “Exactly my point.”

They’d been in line for barely a minute when a figure walked past them for the door, white hair that should have looked strange but only looked elegant on the young woman’s dark skin tones, clutching a cup of coffee in hand and eyes glued to a phone.

“Allura!” Shiro gasped.

The woman looked up and vibrant eyes widened. “Shiro!”

“It’s so good to see you!” Shiro was already stepping out of the lengthening line and gently embracing Allura, who Keith knew was an old foreign exchange student friend of Shiro’s. Her uncle worked for the Garrison City Police Department and she normally visited Shiro a couple times a year when she was back stateside. “I had no idea you were coming in for the holidays!”

“I had no idea you would still be here,” she laughed, accented voice rich and returning the hug with such force Shiro wheezed. Keith snickered.  “Oh what a pleasant surprise. I am afraid I have to run but we _must_ make plans. What is your schedule next week?”

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Shiro offered. “We can talk quick?”

“Of course, I would be delighted.”

Shiro turned sheepish eyes to Keith. “Keith, buddy—”

“Go,” Keith waved a hand. “I’ll get you something you’ll like.”

“Are you still being a tea snob?” Allura asked as the two walked away. “Shiro, really—”

Keith grinned. He knew he liked her for a reason.

His eyes turned back to the menu board to find something that might be acceptable to Shiro and decided upon a honey citrus mint. He placed his order and Shiro’s and moved to wait for them to be prepared, spotting Allura and Shiro still chatting in the parking lot next to what looked like a _very_ expensive coupe done in shades of pale pink.

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind him and Keith realized he was blocking the counter. “I just— Oh, Mr. Kogane, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Professor Wilde,” Keith greeted, lips tilting up at his old astrophysics professor and easily the least stuffy teacher he’d encountered yet. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” Wilde smiled, reaching behind Keith to pick up a platter with a sandwich and soup on it. “Just doing some… work,” he gestured his head towards a table with a laptop.

“Shiro too,” Keith said, knowing most of the staff knew of the practically family relation he had with the TA, who was in constant demand for his work ethic and skills. “I had to drag him out to get him to stop grading.”

“Ah Shiro, a perfectionist as always,” Wilde chuckled. “Who was he working with this semester? Professor Slav?”

“Yeah,” and they both winced.

“I can see why he’s still grading,” Wilde smirked. “A brilliant mind Slav is, a rather awful teach—”

Wilde cut off as Shiro was suddenly stepping between the two of them, shouldering really, and Keith had to take a step back to avoid his toes being stepped on.

“Shiro, what—?”

“Don’t talk to him,” Shiro growled and Keith was not sure he’d ever seen Shiro make expression before; narrowed eyes and curled lip and such _hatred_ coming off him.

He realized the command had been directed at Wilde.

“Why Shiro,” and Wilde looked surprised. “I don’t quite—”

“Walk away now before I do something I will not regret.”

Keith watched as Wilde’s face lost the smile and his own gaze narrowed. “Is that a threat, Shirogane?”

“You tell me.”

Keith was missing something.

Something really big.

“Shiro—” He tried to step out from behind him — he was blocking the counter again — but Shiro stepped with him, firmly rooted between Keith and Wilde.

Keith felt something sick curl in his stomach.

What was going on?

“Keith,” the barista called out and Keith gingerly turned his back to retrieve the drinks. When he turned around both Shiro and Wilde were still staring at one another, something ugly on both of their faces.

“Shiro,” Keith nearly whispered his name.

It broke the spell and Shiro’s expression, while remaining firm and angry, was no longer contorting him. He placed a hand on Keith’s back as though to steer him from the shop and keep him in front of Shiro and away from Wilde. “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

Keith silently followed his lead until they got to Shiro’s car.

“Shiro, what was that? What’s going on? Why did you—?”

“Not now, Keith,” and Shiro sounded so _tired_ then, all of the anger gone and replaced with something that could only be described as sad. “Let’s just… just go home.”

And for the first time since they’d known each other, even when practically strangers in the Big Brother program to one another, there was a strained silence.

Keith had no idea how to break it.

xxx

**Thursday, December 20, 19:41**

Coran smiled at the young man who had quietly introduced himself as Tomás Ramirez, current senior at GGU, and had said nothing else except his acknowledgement when Coran had gone over the room being recorded and the same spiel he had given to Jonathan.

“This is about a professor, isn’t it?” Tomás said, voice barely audible, before Coran could even ask a question.

“It is,” Coran said evenly.

The young man, just turned twenty-two, no living family and at the Garrison on scholarship and a work study, licked his lips. “About… about Professor Wilde?”

“Yes,” Coran confirmed.

Tomás ducked his head. “I thought so,” came the whisper.

“Did something happen between you and Wilde?” Coran asked gently.

He dearly wished to hear both answers; the no to prevent this boy from feeling the same horrid way Lance was and the yes to finally make some forward progress.

The young man jerked his head up and down.

“Did...did something happen to… to someone else?”

“It did,” Coran said softly.

There was no sense in denying the obvious.

“Am I… am I in trouble?”

“No, no, not at all, lad. You are the farthest thing from it. I wish to help you, if you will allow me to do so. And if you so choose… you can help me help another young man just like yourself and countless others too.”

Tomás’ shoulders shook. “I… I graduate in the spring. If… if…”

“The university is on your side, Tomás,” Coran promised. “I assure you. No matter what you say to me here it will not affect your graduation. Of which,” Coran’s face gentled into a smile, “I see you are graduating with high honors. Congratulations, lad.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“We can talk about whatever you feel comfortable sharing,” Coran continued. “At whatever pace you like. I can ask you questions if you’d prefer or you may speak freely, whatever comes to mind.”

Tomás nodded. “I would like to speak,” he said after a moment. His hands trembled on the table and he looked up, cheeks highlighted pink. “But I… I have never t-told anyone… I do not know how to say… say it… I did not think, at the time that… but now I...”

“You can tell me,” Coran said softly. “There is no judgement here, lad. Only a desire for justice to those who have done you a grievous wrong.”

The young man nodded again. “Then… then I will be blunt,” he swallowed. “Professor Wilde, he forced me to… he told me…”

Tomás cast his eyes back down to the table and his words came out a breath, a release.

“He raped me.”

And Coran felt horror and relief and hope and disgust all flare in equal measure.

xxx

**Thursday, December 20, 22:47**

Coran was just about to head home, not sure if he could sleep following his nearly three hour interview with Tomás but exhausted all the same, when his desk phone rang.

Coran glanced at it, confused. Who would be calling his desk at this hour? 

He could let it go to voicemail. He should. His niece was visiting and he already felt bad that he had not been there to welcome her and she’d had to let herself in through the garage, but…

But something made him reach for the headset just before it finished its fourth ring.

“Hello, Detective Coran Smythe,” he greeted.

“ _Coran_ ,” came a quiet voice and one he recognized immediately.

Jonathan.

“ _What you said_ ,” and Coran could hear him swallowing. “ _There… there was another_?”

“Yes,” Coran said quietly, sinking into his chair. “Many, actually.” He heard the harsh intake on the other side. “But right now? There is a young man who came forward a few days ago to report an incident with a certain professor after he had been… been hurt.”

A heavy breath and then another sounded.

_“Is… is he all right?”_

“He will be, I think,” Coran said softly, picturing the hollow eyes but seeing the clear support and love in the two friends who had brought him to the station. “But it does not change what has happened to him. Or to you.”

“ _I… I can’t discuss this now,_ ” Jonathan said. “ _But I… I would like to… to help. I… I have a son, Coran. The thought of this happening to him, to know that man has hurt others… to know if I’d said something then that maybe… maybe…”_ a choked sounding sob echoed. “ _I will speak to you. About it_.”

“Thank you,” Coran said quietly, sincerely. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

“ _Tomorrow_ ,” Jonathan put out. “ _Does tomorrow…?”_

“Any time.”

Coran set the phone done a minute later with an appointment for next afternoon.

His gaze drifted to the open file folder on his desk, displaying countless smiling faces of young men in their freshman ID photos at the Galaxy Garrison University, all of whom now, in some way had lost that innocent warmth because of a single man.

Coran could not recall the last case that had made him tear up.

This one made him sob.

xxx

**Friday, December 20, 11:21**

Hunk eyed his ringing cell phone with great trepidation for that was not Lance’s ringtone.

It was Pidge’s.

He gulped. If he ignored it she’d just… stop, right? Lance had told him he’d texted Keith and Pidge that they would talk later when they all returned to campus from break. Hunk had been both proud and relieved; it was hard constantly lying to them and he knew, ultimately, as difficult as it would be it would be good for Lance to have their support and he knew without a doubt they would give it.

His stomach still clenched at the memory of Mr. Esposito’s anger and Lance’s broken sobs and pleas that had followed. All had ended well but Hunk knew he would never forget that moment, that rejection, when Lance had needed his dad most.

But Lance had asked him to let it go, that it was fine now, and Hunk grudgingly had promised to do so. Mr. Esposito was a great dad and person, he knew that, and one moment in that kind of situation didn’t define him.

Hunk apparently wasn’t as good at letting go as he thought. But he was trying, for Lance’s sake.

The phone screen went dark and Hunk breathed out a sigh.

It lit up a moment later, this time displaying Keith.

He let that one go to voicemail too.

Pidge rang in a moment later.

Cheeseballs.

Hunk sucked in a deep breath. He knew Pidge would keep calling until he answered, she was annoyingly persistent like that, and if she’d roped in Keith too then with his stubborn personality…

Hunk would be fielding a useless phone all day and he couldn’t do that in case Lance needed him.

Sucking in a breath he answered it after the sixth time.

“Hello?”

“ _Spill_ ,” Pidge’s voice was unyielding.

“Sp-spill?” Hunk repeated.

Holy cheeseballs.

She knew something.

“ _Hunk_ ,” Keith sounded and Hunk whimpered as he realized he was being tag-teamed now. “ _What’s going on_?”

“Um, I’m about to go run to the store for some milk,” Hunk put out, as that was on his agenda to do today, along with some other errands for his mom while she was at work.

“ _You know that’s not what we meant_ ,” Pidge cut in. Her voice softened. “ _Hunk, please. Something is wrong. First Lance and_ —”

“First?” Hunk’s stomach bottomed out. Oh God, what had happened? Had Wilde done someth—?

“ _Shiro is acting weird_ ,” Keith said and God, Hunk could feel his unease across the line. “ _He’s been sort of… distracted the last couple days but yesterday Hunk, at the coffee shop_ —”

“Coffee shop?” Hunk interrupted that time.

He didn’t mean _that_ coffee shop, did he?

“ _Yes, a place one goes to get coffee_ ,” he could hear Pidge’s eye roll.

“You can get other things there,” Hunk said, desperately hoping to steer this conversation some other direction. “Tea and pastries and—”

“ _Yesterday_ ,” Keith sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “ _Shiro and I went to the shop just off of Third and Professor Wilde was there and Shiro, he_ …” Keith paused and Hunk felt his heart stop right along with it.

Oh no.

“ _We were just talking_ ,” Keith continued, “ _and Shiro butts in and I’ve never seen him that mad, Hunk._ Ever _.”_

Oh flipping holy cheeseballs.

“ _I told Pidge and she told me that you and Lance had a class with Wilde and given Lance’s weird behavior too she thought maybe they were related and… and we’re_ worried _, Hunk._ ”

And Keith sounded it too.

Hunk swallowed thickly.

“ _You know what happened_ ,” Pidge said. “ _Please, Hunk. We just.. We want to help. Is Lance okay? Really? No one… no one died, right?”_

“No,” Hunk breathed that out. “No. God no. No one died. His family is okay.”

Pidge let out a sigh of relief on her end. “ _Thank God_.”

“But…”

He couldn’t say anything.

“ _Hunk, please,_ ” and oh God, Pidge sounded almost like she was going to cry.

What did he do? What did he do?

“He failed a class,” Hunk blurted out. “Wilde’s class. He… he failed.”

He sucked in a deep breath and then let it out as silence reigned on the other side.

It wasn’t wrong, technically. It was what had started all of… _this_ and would hopefully be enough to distract Pidge.

“ _Oh God_ ,” she murmured. _“Oh… Poor, Lance.”_

 _“But he told us he was coming back to campus_ ,” Keith said, frown audible. “ _So he wasn’t kicked out._ ”

Hunk paled.

Holy mother of cheeseballs.

“ _Hunk_ …” Pidge’s voice dropped warningly.

“I can’t,” he choked out. “I’m sorry guys, I can’t. It’s… it’s not… I’m sorry.”

“ _Whoa, whoa,_ ” Pidge backtracked. “ _Hunk, don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m sorry.”_

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

 _“Just… is Lance okay?_ ” Pidge asked quietly. “ _Really okay?_ ”

“He…” Hunk swallowed, weighing his words. “He will be,” he finished softly. “I know he will be. Just… just give him some time, okay?”

“ _Okay_ ,” Pidge agreed. _“I’m sorry, Hunk.”_

“ _Me too_ ,” Keith said abnormally softly.

“‘s all right,” Hunk sniffled. “I know you guys are worried. I’m sorry I can’t say more. But… but Lance needs to talk to you. Not me.”

“ _We understand_ ,” Keith said for them both. “ _You doing okay_?”

“Me? I’m good. Running out for milk and some more supplies. Lots of Christmas cookies to bake and not near enough flour.”

Conversation moved then to favorite cookies and holiday plans and Hunk switched them to speaker as he finished getting ready to head out as he had actually planned with a stop after to pick Lance up and kidnap him to assist him in baking. It’d be good for Lance, who had been sticking close to home and still secluding himself.

“Okay guys, I really do have to go,” Hunk said. “Talk later?”

“ _Absolutely_ ,” Pidge smiled. “ _And… and tell Lance we’re thinking about him, okay? And… and if he just wants to talk video games or stuff like this I’m always down. No other questions, promise_.”

“I’ll tell him,” Hunk smiled. “I… I think he’d really like that. Thanks you guys.”

And humming “jingle bells” and in much better spirits than he had been twenty minutes ago Hunk headed for the store.

xxx

**Saturday, December 21, 17:52**

“Uncle, what are you doing? Is… is that _work?”_

Coran tried not to startle as Allura’s voice sounded from the doorway to his home office and he threw an arm across the papers he had been examining — hospital records that had _finally_ arrived — so she could not see as it was technically confidential to the investigation. Coran had made a firm rule to never bring work home with him — one exception involving a murder-suicide in which the only reason he’d gone home to was to sleep after seventy-two hours and he’d brought his work with him — but he had found himself breaking it on this case.

He could not wash the image of Lance’s sad, dead eyes and darkened cheeks from his mind and now it was overlapped by two similar images of both Tomás and Jonathan. All of those young men deserved some peace this holiday and while he could never return it in full, knowing that the man who had hurt them, broken their trust as much as their bodies, was behind bars would be good news he was certain.

“No, of course not,” Coran said, turning to face his niece.

She raised a brow that Coran had long told her made her look like a peeved off royal. She had grinned, tossed her hair, and thanked him for the compliment.

“Dinner is almost ready,” she told him, not pressing the matter although she looked more than a mite curious. “And don’t forget I invited an old friend of mine to join us. His schedule was a bit packed next week before I headed out and you said you didn’t mind.”

“Yes, yes,” Coran shuffled the papers into a folder. “You’ve told me about him before. What was his name? Shane?”

“Shiro,” she corrected.

Coran stiffened.

What?

“Shiro?” he repeated, mind flashing to the dark haired graduate student that had brought Lance into the department.

It couldn’t be…

The doorbell rang and Allura hurried off, calling over her shoulder to fetch the bullarum she had brought; some champagne like drink from her travels.

Coran did so and slowly made his way to the dining room where Allura had outdone herself — with a local order from one of the Italian restaurants. His attention was not on the food though but on the young man who, back to him, was pulling out a chair for Allura to sit down.

He turned and…

And their eyes met with shared realization.

Shiro let out a sheepish sounding chuckle and rubbed the back of his head. “I knew Allura had an uncle who worked at the police department, but I didn’t realize…” He held out his hand. “Shiro.”

“Coran,” Coran took it with a firm shake.

Allura glanced between them as Shiro sat down next to her and Coran opposite. “You two know each other?” Her gaze narrowed. “Shiro, you are not in trouble with the law, are you?”

“What? No!”

“We happen to have a mutual… friend,” Coran said carefully. “Have you heard from him at all recently, Shiro?”

“Not since earlier this week,” Shiro said. “He said he was doing okay; he talked with his parents about some things.”

Coran let out a silent sigh of relief at the news. Familial support meant a world of difference and he’d seen both ends of it when family members had been brought in (sometimes even as the offender to the victim and watching sides be taken was horrendous every time) and to know that Lance had at least that right now gave him a small measure of peace.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. Allura was frowning at the both of them but did not interrupt. “Now,” he turned a smile to Allura. “Let us see what my master chef of a niece has bought for, oh dear, I mean _cooked_ for us.”

Allura lobbed a piece of garlic bread and Coran laughed and the atmosphere moved into something lighter as Shiro inquired about Allura’s most recent trip to Rome and the conversation (and bullarum) flowed freely.

Coran allowed himself to enjoy the evening with the young people, reveling in the peace and happiness and cheer.

Come tomorrow though…

It was back to business.

xxx

**Saturday, December 21, 22:10**

“—never guess who I saw today.”

Keith paused from where he was getting out of the shower, Shiro’s conversation from the main room of the studio apartment (almost never any privacy) filtered into the bathroom.

“Coran,” the name came after a pause. “Yeah. He’s a friend’s uncle, apparently. No. No, we didn’t. That’s not… not really—”

Keith frowned as he wrapped a towel about his waist. Shiro had to mean Allura’s uncle as that’s where he’d been for dinner that night, and he knew he worked for the police department. But it sounded like they’d met before? And whoever Shiro was talking to had as well?

Shiro let out a low chuckle. “I know _you_ would have, Hunk. But you’d have gotten nowhere either. You know he can’t talk about it.”

Keith stiffened.

Hunk?

Shiro was in contact with Hunk? And the _police?_

He shifted on his feet, uncertain if he should listen to anymore. This was private.

“How’s Lance?” Shiro asked quietly and Keith sucked in a breath.

What?

There was quiet then for a few moments. “I’m glad you’re there for him,” Shiro said softly, almost too softly to pick up. Keith fidgeted but couldn’t bring himself to stop listening.

Answers.

Real ones.

“I spoke with Dr. Holt earlier,” Shiro continued. “He said if he needs a refill for anything to just notify him and he’ll get it. Lance can tell you and you tell me and I’ll take care of it. He also said…” Another pause. “If… if Lance wants to see someone he can—”

“Yeah, I know. Uh huh… I know, Hunk. But we both know that Lance isn’t f—”

Shiro broke off again with a sigh. “I know. But if you could tell him, please. I’m still on short text messages with him and this really isn’t something that— Yes. Thank you. The university will cover everything, okay? Make sure he knows that. Medicine, counseling… whatever he needs, Dr. Holt already approved it.”

Hunk was talking again then as Shiro went quiet and Keith found himself sitting hard on the toilet seat.

They were talking about Lance. And medicine and police and… and a _therapist?_ He swallowed thickly, mind racing to connect the dots that were right in front of him. Police, medicine, counseling, “ _d_ _on’t talk to him,”_ growled at Wilde and earlier the soft and worried, “ _you’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?”_

Then there had been Lance hiding away in his room, sick Hunk had claimed, missing finals, not responding to texts and then, now, when he finally had… “ _I’m okay… but I need to talk to you.”_ Hunk’s nervous blurt of failing a class, failing _Wilde’s_ class, but Lance hadn’t been expelled it sounded like.

Keith was glad he was already sitting because pieces were lining up and not in a good way.

“—gotta go, Keith’ll be coming out of the bathroom soon. No. No I haven’t told him anything and I won’t,  but you know him.” A lighter laugh. “Not half as bad as you though and you know it. Uh huh. Keep… keep me posted, okay? And, and give Lance a hug from me. Thanks, buddy... Talk soon. Good night.”

Keith numbly moved to brush his teeth, turning the water on loud.

His hands were shaking.

It couldn’t be…

But…

He’d seen victims before, when he was in the foster system. One of his foster sisters at a home had been… by their “father” and… and…

Oh God.

His hands went to his phone, sitting charging on the counter.

Did he tell Pidge? She was fifteen, damnit, she shouldn’t be…

But Lance was…

Lance was only eighteen and he’d… he’d…

Keith picked up the phone and pulled up the message chat of his and Pidge’s.

 _I think I know what happened_ he texted quickly, hitting send before he could think on it. He and Pidge were in this together, equally concerned and scared and she was not a child and did not need coddled.

She needed truth, answers, same as him.

She responded back within a few seconds.  _Tell me._

Keith swallowed. And then he typed,  _I think_

He paused.

Forced himself to continue.

I _think Lance was_

It pended for a moment, a blinking bar at the end as though not typing it could prevent it from being true. Keith swallowed and finished his sentence.

_I think Lance was raped._

**Monday, December 23, 09:48**

Coran paced around and around his desk, stomach in knots of anticipation.

This was it.

He’d asked Wilde back to the department for a follow up interview and the man had accepted, still sounding far too smug in Coran’s opinion, but he would see how long that lasted.

Coran was about to chuck the entire book at him.

He knew this was still only the beginning; merely charging Wilde would see him arrested but he would be able to bond out until his trial, which wouldn’t likely commence until February, and would then drag out.

Coran hoped it did. He hoped it got all the media scrutiny in the world because if that were the case he had great hope that more of the victims might be emboldened to come forward, to add their testimonies and, with luck, increase the sentence.

Coran was going for a large one already.

He was starting with threats and intimidation with plans to move it from a class 1 misdemeanor up to a class 6 felony as he firmly believed and could prove Wilde’s threats prevented the victims from reporting criminal conduct of the criminal sexual assault and that allowed up to two years in prison per charge. He had the State’s Attorney already on standby once Wilde was officially under arrest for the upgraded charge.

Tampering with evidence was his next offense, another class six felony. He had distinct proof now from Dr. Samuel Holt and Dr. Ryner Olkari’s review of Lance’s tests and essays that Wilde had forged false grades both on the papers and in the electronic database along with his own evidence of printed charts and diagrams showing the giant spikes in grades both up and down.

And the third and most serious charge and the one for which Coran would see Wilde truly pay was criminal sexual assault with a class 2 felony charge. If Coran could have made it a class 1 he would have done so but the state of Arizona only allowed such for first and second degree murder.

It would ultimately be up to the courts to decide Wilde’s claims of consent and make a final verdict, but, Coran tapped the folder on his desk, he had plenty of evidence of his own and testimonies and, if this worked as he hoped now, he would have Wilde’s true colors shown on video that should easily move any jury in their favor.

The class 2 felony charge carried up to fourteen years of prison, but Coran was going to push for the two or more convictions which allowed up to twenty-eight years as although Wilde had never been charged or convicted before the sheer length to which he had gotten away with this, had hurt so many, was more than deserving. Coran knew likely it would not happen but between the other charges on top of the sexual assault, of which he would demand himself not be served concurrently, it should be at least eighteen years.

Not anywhere near enough for what he deserved but it was a step in the right direction. And, Coran had smiled dangerously, while child molesters were the ones who were frowned upon even amongst criminals he had a feeling Wilde’s exploits would not be received all that kindly either by the general prison population.

He could not find it in him to care.

His phone rang and Coran scooped it up.

“Coran,” came the greeting from Records, “your asshole is here.”

“Thank you, Romelle,” Coran smiled. “I’ll be right up.”

Showtime.

He ushered Wilde, dressed smartly in a polo and slacks, into the interview room and reminded him the room was audio and video recorded.

The man sat back in the chair as though he owned the room, a smile of amusement playing on his lips.

Coran couldn’t wait to wipe it off.

“Detective,” Wilde sighed although he never lost his smile. “I do not know what else I can tell you that I have not already provided. It is time you stop this witch hunt of yours, is it not? I may have to press charges of my own for harassment.”

Coran opened his folder and pulled out his first sheet, ignoring him, and placed it on the table. “Tell me this then, Mr. Wilde. Why is it that when Lance’s test scores were graded by multiple other parties they awarded a composite score of a B across the board where you had previously failed him?”

Wilde didn’t even flinch. “All professors grade on a different set of criteria,” he shrugged. “What is a passing grade from one professor may be failing by another. Surely that is not—”

“And how do you explain the altered test scores in your grade book?” Coran pulled another sheet free, depicting the scores over the twenty years in which a previously passing student suddenly had a rash of failing numbers to then jump to passing at the every end of the semester.

“It is hardly a crime to adjust grades,” Wilde said, not even looking at it. “Students are welcome to make up course work to improve themselves and clearly those students all put some extra effort in by the end. And I always admire a student willing to go above and beyond expectations and award accordingly.”

Award. Coran silently scowled behind his moustache. That’s what he was calling it?

Coran did not allow himself to show any reaction and pulled out his next sheet, the hospital records. This one he held in his hands and he met Wilde’s eyes over the top of it.

“You have told me repeatedly that you and Lance consensually engaged in sexual intercourse.”

“Correct.”

“That you made the initial offer and Lance took you up on it where you then engaged in the act in your office at Galaxy Garrison University.”

“We have been over this already, Detective. _Yes_.”

“I just find it strange,” Coran said, meeting the dark eyes, “that for a consensual act Lance was hurt so badly.”

“Hurt?” Wilde repeated. He leaned forward ever so slightly from his relaxed slump. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Lance had severe anal tearing,” Coran tapped his finger on the paper. “So much so that it actually extended to tear the surrounding muscle and while fortunately no surgery was needed it is not something that heals without pain. The hospital said that, even accounting for a number of showers, there was no indication of any type of lubricant that would have assisted in making Lance more comfortable and ultimately possibly enjoy the experience and prevent such damage.”

“And as I told you before, he wished to do it without any sort of… assistance. He insisted. All natural, you know those brown-skinned boys. A little nod to their more… primitive side." Coran felt his toes curl at the words.

“Mm,” he said instead, carefully neutral. “A strange request for someone of whom this would be their first time experiencing sexual intercourse of any kind.”

“Their first?”

Wilde sounded both surprised and… and no, Coran wasn’t imagining it, there was a glint in his eye.

His stomach churned.

He pushed past it.

“I’m surprised he would not have told you,” Coran said, tapping the paper again. “After all, isn’t that something a partner normally shares?”

“We were not partners,” Wilde waved it away. “He was curious and I was more than willing. I wish he’d have told me,” Wilde’s voice turned lower. “Although I should have suspected. He was so _tight.”_

Coran coughed lightly and Wilde let out a soft laugh. “My apologies, Detective. You don’t need to hear of my preferences.”

“Actually, I would very much like to,” Coran said. “I have a guess.”

“Oh?”

“Young males, eighteen to twenty years of age, slender builds, mostly Hispanic backgrounds but anyone with a darker skin tone will do for you, and conveniently all on some sort of scholarship program with either no family, close relations and or low-income and poverty-line situations.”

And for the first time since Coran had seen him Wilde lost his smile.

“Did I hit them all?” he asked far too innocently. “I have twenty-seven young men of who those profiles fit and strangely enough all of them were at one point failing your class and then, somehow, were passing at semester’s end.”

“Strange indeed,” Wilde said after a moment, smile flickering.

Coran let him sit on that and tapped his sheet of paper again. “But back to Lance. In addition to the injuries done inside him he also had massive bruising all over his hips and thighs that displayed a fingerprint pattern. Here, let me show you.”

Coran pulled out the last sheet of paper from his file and put it flat on the table directly in front of Wilde.

Wilde’s breath hitched and he leaned forward from where he had gone back to an almost forced casual sit.

There were three images taken from the hospital all of Lance. They did not display his face, although one that showed a full profile of him standing with his bare back to the camera caught his chin.

The bruises were the reason the photos had been taken, littering both his inner and outer thighs and imprinted along his hips, but there were thin scratches in spots along his back and some lighter bruising in places on his arms and calves as well as a few marks of irritation that Lance had choked out were from rough kisses, biting. Coran knew there were lighter bruises on the boy’s stomach and on the front of his legs and thighs as well, but he’d kept those photos of full frontal exposure to himself; this was queasy enough as it was and he had a feeling these shots were all that he needed.

Coran watched Wilde look at the photos.

His eyes had trekked to the one of Lance lying on the hospital bed on his side, back to them and completely naked, and he reached a finger out, tracing the curve of the photo from Lance’s lower back and down to his thigh, doing it again a moment later.

Like he was petting it.

“Do you see those bruises?” Coran asked, forcing himself to keep his voice level as Wilde’s breath picked up.

“Yes,” Wilde breathed. “Yes. He was so… so _flexible.”_ He licked his lips. “I could move him into any position and he’d just... just _stay_ there after a little instruction. So… so perfect. _”_

“You gave him those bruises,” Coran said, now knowing why there were likely so many. Instruction. God. “You caused him _pain.”_

“He asked for it,” Wilde’s gaze was still fixed on the photos. “He wanted it. He wanted all of it.” He let out another breath. “He was absolutely _exquisite.”_

Coran felt disgust coil in him.

As he’d thought…

Wilde was like all the other sexual predators he had come into contact with. He just couldn’t resist when his object of desire was directly before him. Coran had to admit Wilde had played the best game he’d ever seen, holding composure through it all and having gotten away it it for far, far longer than Coran had yet personally encountered.

But the photos or videos were always their undoing.

He felt sick.

But…

But now it was time to turn this predator into prey.

Wilde was a dead man walking and Coran was ready to pull the trigger.

“When you asked him for consent did he say yes?” Coran asked.

Wilde looked up, eyes glassy. “What?”

“Did he explicitly say yes?” Coran repeated. “When you asked him for his consent?”

“Of course. Of course he—”

“Did he say yes?” Coran pushed.

Wilde’s eyes darted from the photo to Coran’s and then back to the photo. He licked his lips. “Of c-course.”

“And did the twenty-seven other young men you manipulated into having sex with you also consent?”

“Of course they d—” Wilde broke himself off. “Wait, no. No, that isn’t what I meant.”

“No they didn’t consent?”

“I didn’t manipulate them. They wanted—”

“They wanted _this?”_ Coran jabbed a finger on the photo, on the bruises that littered the boy’s mocha skin.

Wilde traced his finger back.

“They wanted to be hurt like this?” Coran poked the paper again. “They wanted to be _scared_? They wanted to be _raped?”_

Wilde gave a shake of his head.

His eyes looked a touch manic as he finally wrenched his gaze from the image to Coran’s.

“No, no, that isn’t what—”

“You and I both know that’s exactly what you did.”

“No, they agreed. They agreed, I swear it.”

“Because you manipulated and coerced them into doing so.”

Wilde’s fingers twitched at his sides and his gaze darted between the photos and Coran. “No, no. They agreed. They consented. They—”

“Andrew Wilde, you are under arrest for criminal sexual assault in addition to manipulation, threatening the reporting of a crime and tampering with official records and evidence.”

“No, I—”

He abruptly stood from the table but Coran was already walking around it with handcuffs pulled and the interview room door was opening and fellow Detective Olia came into assist.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Coran said, securing Wilde’s arms behind him without any further protest. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

He double checked the cuffs for tightness and then locked them with a resounding click while Olia completed a quick pat down to search for weapons and gave a quick shake of her head.

“No, no,” Wilde said, bracing his feet. “No. He agreed. They all agreed. They said they’d do it. They, they... “ he trailed off.

“Take him to booking,” Coran instructed, turning his back on the disgraced professor who had gone silent in Olia’s firm hold, eyes wide and staring at the camera blinking in the corner of the room. “I’ll meet you there with felony approval charges.”

Olia’s smile was sharp. “Ten four.”

The sound of the booking room jail closing a moment later was music to Coran’s ears.

xxx

**Monday, December 23, 14:45**

“Hunk,” Lance sighed. “I think it’s time to admit defeat.”

“No. Plug it in again. This one’s gotta be it.”

Lance dutifully replugged the strand of Christmas lights into the wall outlet.

The entire strand lit up bright red.

“Ha!” Hunk crowed, sitting in middle of the lights. “I knew it! I knew I’d find that darn busted socket eventually!”

“Two hours later,” Lance deadpanned.

He really didn’t mind. Sorting through Christmas lights with Hunk had been… nice. Hunk had kept up a steady stream of chatter and plied him with cookies in which Lance did eat one and there had been Christmas music playing on the radio behind them that Lance couldn’t quite find it in him to sing along with, not yet, but Hunk had sang the refrain to a few songs and hadn’t pushed for Lance to join him.

Lance wished he could.

He wished he would stop feeling so… so _empty._

He was feeling better, honest, he told Hunk when asked. The bruises were fading to a gross yellow and his antibiotic and painkiller the doctor had prescribed had both run out the other day and Lance didn’t think he needed a refill. Hunk had told him that Dr. Holt via Shiro would cover it but Lance didn’t want any more drugs.

Nor did he want to talk to anyone.

Hunk had hesitantly posed the idea of a therapist, again from a Dr. Holt / Shiro relay and Lance had been unsure whether to feel ill at ease or grateful that they were talking about him like that but settled on grateful because he knew Shiro was likely reaching out to Hunk because he had still been mostly avoiding his phone, but Lance had shot it down.

He didn’t _need_ to see anyone. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened, didn’t want to think about it anymore than the bruises and memories forced him to. He just wanted to move past it and be fine again.

He knew he wouldn’t be “fine” for a long, long time.

The fact he still couldn’t ditch the jackets and hoodies — at least in one of his own more fitted but still baggy hoodies today — because he didn’t want any extra skin exposed, didn’t want to draw anyone’s eye told him a lot. He felt sick about it but, his as his hands went to clutch at the sleeves, he couldn’t stop.

Not yet.

He knew he had to though come January when he was back on campus. He needed to be okay then; back to the person he had been before this.

He wasn’t sure how.

He was tired of feeling tired.

He was tired of being scared, of being plagued by nightmares and phantom touches.

He just…

Just wanted everything to be _normal._

He’d been quiet for too long he realized, or maybe he’d missed responding to Hunk, because Hunk was crouching down next to him a moment later, a hand carefully reaching out to his shoulder and the murmur of _“hermano”_ on his lips.

“Sorry,” Lance whispered, even as he leaned into Hunk’s touch and it became a gentle hug. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know…”

“It’s okay,” Hunk murmured. “And no more apologizing.” His hands rubbed a large circle onto Lance’s back. “Do… do you want to talk about it?”

Lance shook his head against Hunk’s chest.

He said the same thing every time Hunk asked.

He just wanted to _forget._

“Okay,” Hunk agreed quietly. “How… how about we get up though? Have some hot chocolate? Eat something?” that last one came out closer to a plea and Lance winced. He knew he still hadn’t been eating much — he just wasn’t hungry — and Hunk had cajoled him onto his family’s bathroom scale and revealed he was down almost five pounds.

He’d dutifully eaten the soup Hunk had pressed on him then but his stomach had been unsettled the rest of the night and only sheer force had kept it down.

Mamá was growing concerned too and Lance hated that he was worrying her but he just… couldn’t.

Sara still didn’t know what had happened — and Lance wanted to keep it that way — but his three older siblings had been alerted there had been an incident but no details. Lance wasn't sure how much he wanted to share, not yet. Maybe after Christmas, but he… he didn’t want to ruin everyone’s holiday.

He’d already ruined so many.

“Lance,” Hunk tapped his fingers against his back. “Come on, _hermano._ Please?”

“Okay,” Lance murmured, allowing Hunk to tug him to his feet and into the Garrett’s large kitchen and to the table.

Hunk was just putting on the kettle when Lance felt his pocket buzzing. He fished the phone out but didn’t recognize the number on the screen.

It had a Garrison City area code.

His hands shook.

What if it was…?

He had an emergency Order of Protection granted which had a no-contact order for two weeks from Wilde (although it hadn't been served until last week and thus rendering his run-in with Wilde at the coffee shop legal on the professor's side since it had not been at the Garrison, the only place he'd been ordered not to visit or have contact with Lance there)  but… but...

“Lance?” Hunk came over, a platter of strawberries in hand. “Who is—?” His eyes widened. “That’s the police number,” he said quietly and of course Hunk would know that, having memorized every local emergency number and delivery food place (emergencies in their own right, Hunk had argued).

The police?

Lance’s stomach clenched for a different reason.

“I…” he swallowed thickly. “I should…”

“Do you want me here?” Hunk asked gently and Lance gave a short jerk of his head.

He needed Hunk here.

He couldn’t do this alone.

He shakily pressed answer and turned it to speaker.

“Hello?” his voice came out quieter than he wanted.

“ _Hello_ ,” greeted the person on the other end. “ _This is Detective Coran. Am I speaking with Lance?_ ”

“Yes,” Lance almost whispered. Hunk’s hands settled on his shoulders and gave a light squeeze.

“ _Is this a good time to talk_?” Coran asked.

Lance looked over his shoulder to Hunk who gave him a nod. “Yes,” he repeated. He swallowed. “Um, Hunk is… is here too.”

“ _Ah, your friend from before, yes? Hello, lad. If Lance finds it agreeable you are welcome to join our conversation_.”

“Please,” Lance whispered to both of them.

“I’m here,” Hunk said from behind. “What’s… what’s going on, Detective?”

_“I have an update regarding the case.”_

Lance felt his heart stutter.

“ _I wish I could tell you this news in person, my boy, but the sooner the better_.” Coran cleared his throat. “ _Andrew Wilde has been arrested and is facing multiple charges, including, most importantly, criminal sexual assault.”_

Lance choked on his next breath.

“You actually arrested him?” Hunk whispered and Lance was grateful. His throat felt too tight to speak.

Wilde was arrested? Behind bars? Actually…

Actually being charged?

“ _Yes, earlier this morning_.”

Lance felt faint.

“Lance, lad, your testimony and decision to come forward… it was the catalyst for several of Wilde’s other victims to do so as well. Between all of your testimonies and the results of my investigation I have hope that he will be going to prison for a long, long while.”

Lance let out a sound between a sob and a whimper.

This was actually happening.

Wilde was…

He shuddered and Hunk’s hands tightened ever so on his shoulders.

“ _You have been very brave, Lance,_ ” Coran’s voice was soft. “ _And I must ask you to continue to be. This is, unfortunately, only the first step. The case will go to trial early next year and I have no doubts that it will… carry on for sometime.”_

What they had all been afraid of.

“ _But I do not doubt that the courts will see justice_ ,” Coran continued. “ _A_ _nd you will be protected, Lance. I promise you. I just need you to be that brave boy I know you are for a while longer through this. Can you do that for me?”_

Could he?

The news of Wilde’s arrest was going to make the news, make headlines even if the university tried to keep it quiet. People were going to suspect, to wonder who the victims were, if they’d known any of them, and Lance knew right now his behavior was painting him as one of them.

For all of Coran’s promises and the same on the university’s side Lance could very well out himself and his role in the case.

But…

But he had to try. He had to do this.

For himself. For his family. For all of Wilde’s other victims, for any other potential ones.

“Y-yes,” he choked out after a pause.

 _“I’m so very proud of you_ ,” Coran murmured and Lance didn’t know why those words, from someone who was still practically a stranger but one he had known at the first meeting was a _good_ person, made his throat close up again. _“I must contact the university now and alert them of the arrest and charges, but before that are there any questions you have for me?_ ”

Lance shook his head, overwhelmed.

Wilde had been arrested.

He was in jail.

He…

He couldn’t hurt him again.

“Not right now,” Hunk answered for him. “Just… um. Thank you. For… for this.”

“ _No thanks necessary, lad. I’ll be in touch and Lance, anytime, anywhere, you call me if you have questions, all right?_ ”

“Yes,” Lance managed to get out. “Th-thank you.”

“ _Take care, Lance, Hunk_.”

Coran disconnected and silence echoed in the kitchen.

The sharp piercing of the tea kettle broke it.

Hunk’s hands left his shoulders as he raced to it and Lance shuddered at the loss of the warmth and wrapped his own arms around his stomach, hunching over.

He wasn’t sure if he was about to be sick or not.

Hunk was there again a moment later and turning the chair on its back legs and crouching down in front of Lance just like Mamá had done.

Tears stung his eyes.

Oh _Dios._

This was actually…

He actually…

“H-Hunk,” he choked out as large arms wrapped about his front and tugged him off the chair and into the sturdy chest.

Lance collapsed against it, hands shifting to clutch at Hunk’s sweater.

It was over.

It wasn’t over.

But it was _over._

Wilde was arrested. He was being _charged_ for… for _that._ For what he’d done.

He could never touch Lance again.

He never had to see him again.

Lance hiccuped out a sob and tightened his grip.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Hunk murmured, rocking them both gently. “I’m right here, _hermano._ It’s gonna be okay.” Hunk’s voice went lower. “Everything is going to be okay.”

And this time…

Lance knew it really would be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a bit of a guilty pleasure post for me, along with really needing to tie up some loose ends on the criminal investigation side and given my background with the police I felt more than capable of doing so. Let me tell you, there is nothing more rewarding than watching one of our detectives or officers go in for the kill on some of these cases. Also, I can assure you that the entire department (especially Records, us nosy folk ;p) are aware of any and all cases and the “your asshole is here” is definitely a line we have all used on multiple occasions. We all love a good arrest and justice being served :D
> 
> There are of course still some loose ends, particularly with Pidge and Keith, but I am ending the story here unless the commissioner (who did grant approval for this piece) wishes to explore that. But charges are here, trial will be set and I have no doubt Wilde is in for a world of hurt.
> 
> If you made it through this 12,000+ word monster I’d love to hear from you in the comments. There were a lot of “scenes” here so if one in particular struck you, let me know. Dialogue, line, characterization, etc. Please and thank you! I hope you enjoyed it and a dishing of justice Icy style! ♥


End file.
